Seatbelt
by Zennou
Summary: Sometimes, Stan really wished they would shut up. It really felt like babysitting when the two started bickering. And Kenny? Kenny's just happy not to be dead.


**Seatbelt**

_By Zennou_

Sixteen year old Stan Marsh gripped the steering wheel, teeth gritted, knuckles white and head throbbing. Only in their twisted little lives could have some entirely unpleasant and non-alcohol related events happen that lead to four unsupervised teenagers be driving around in the dead of night, Stan thought bitterly. To top it off, one of the four was wearing a rather conspicuous pink dress (one that he was sure wasn't supposed to be suited for somebody that fat), one covered in soot and still smoking slightly from the result of the fire, and the other simply pleased that he hadn't died yet.

"Fatass, will you move along?" came the usual bad-tempered snarl. Stan had to resist the urge to smash his face against the steering wheel. For a brief, wonderful minute he had thought that the two had decided to stop arguing. Kyle had ever right to be pissed off…Stan just wished that he wasn't driving so he could have a few drinks, that might make the arguments go down easier.

"Ey, you've got plenty of room you skinny Jew rat," the other voice snarls.

"Plenty of room? Plenty of room?" Kyle repeated, his voice reaching a high pitch in anger, "Your blubber butt is taking up all the fucking seat!"

"Remind me again why you called the front seat Kenny, you sadistic son of a bitch," Stan grumbled. Kenny simply grinned and buried his face in his magazine. It was rather depressing that Kenny was so malnourished that he hadn't grown enough between the ages of eight and fifteen to fully outgrow his orange parka. Sure it was a bit short around his waist and wrists, and there was a definite tug around the shoulders, but it was still the same beaten orange parka, hood up and covering his face as usual.

"I'm not fat I'm big boned," Cartman said tartly, his sixteen year old voice perfectly mirroring his nine year old one. Kyle made a bizarre screechy-growling noise in sheer frustration, tugging on the green ears of his ushanka, a habit he had picked up over the years. He still wore the hat, and still refused to acknowledge that he had a "jewfro" as Cartman so aptly named it.

"You've been using that same excuse since you were like, what, three?" Kyle said in exasperation, "Give it a rest."

"I'm seriously. If it's an excuse then you could say that 'I'm not a Jew, I'm foreskin impaired'!" Cartman retorted huffily. At that point, Kenny began cracking up, having to cover his face with his magazine to try and protect himself from any Kyle-brand anger directed at him, and even Stan, despite his sourness that they had spent the entire night running about, narrowly avoiding being killed or bringing all of society to a standstill (as was the usual for their little group), cracked a smile.

"Yaaargh!"

"Ow! What the hell was that for Kahl, you asshole?" More sounds of slapping, punching and wails followed and Stan's shoulders tensed in frustration, meanwhile Kenny simply sniggered away. How he wasn't not only remaining unfretted by their relentless bickering but finding some kind of amusement in it, Stan had no idea. Perhaps he was just still elated at having actually survived this one, considering he'd been dying a lot lately.

Oh god, if you could form that sentence and it made perfect sense, you friends were really fucked up, weren't they? Stan shook his head, deciding to focus on the road.

"Staaaan!" Cartman wailed. To make matters worse, Kyle decided to join in.

"Stan! Tell Cartman to stop being an asshole!"

"Styaaaaan," Cartman whined. Kenny had abandoned his magazine to watch the two boys squabble in the back of the car,

"Stan!"

"Styaaan! Hey pull over, there's a McDonalds!" Cartman said, nose practically pressed up against the window.

"Oh yeah, more calories and fat. That's just what you need! You're about bursting out of the dress, gaywad," Kyle snapped, adding a bitter 'You dumbass' at the end for maximum effect.

"It's not a dress, its man-robe."

"A pink man-robe. With frills, a ribbon at the waist and a low cut."

"Fuck you!"

"Guys be quiet, we're not pulling over for a McDonalds," Stan replied. It was three in the morning, he had a test tomorrow and he honestly just wanted to go to bed and start repressing some memories. His mom would be going mad at this point and his dad would be in bed.

"C'mooon Styaaan," he wailed. If that was the last time he had to hear his name, Stan would die a happy man.

"Actually, I'm pretty fuckin' hungry, dude" Kenny interjected. Stan sighed.

"Me too, fatass might actually have a point," Kyle agreed, sounding logical and calm. Of course, now he was done having a completely illogical and temperamental fight with Cartman, he was back to being Jew-Spock again.

Sighing and deciding to give in before a three-person chorus of 'Staaaan' began, he turned into the McDonalds and started going through the drive-thru. He dug a few bills out of his pocket.

"Alright, what're we ordering?" he asked. After some deliberation, which Stan didn't even bother attempting to absorbed, they rolled to a stop by the window.

Stan wound down the window and gave a deeply apologetic glance to the acne-ridden teen, who seemed to be having trouble taking in the sight before him, standing at the window. And from the look on the poor boy's face, he was clearly wishing that he could unsee the scene before him.

"I'll order," Cartman said cheerfully, unclipping his seatbelt clambering over to the correct side of the car, ignoring Kyle's shrieks as he practically crushed him to death. Stan looked woefully at the forty dollars in his hand. With Cartman's appetite that was going to be gone forever, wasn't it?

Cartman scrambled closer to the window and Kyle let out an unearthly shriek of pain that made the employee jump in fright.

"Aaaa…oow, you did that on purpose fatass!" Kyle said, tears of pain in his eyes and looking like he was about ready to die.

"What?" Cartman snapped.

"Stabbed my fucking _balls_ with your fucking _stiletto heels_," Kyle hissed. Stan squeezed his eyes tight shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Whatever sheer stupidty possessed him to agree to this he would never, ever understand.

"They're not stilettos, they're man-heels."

"What the fu –"

"Can I help you?" the McDonalds worker said timidly, looking terrified out of his wits.

"Hell yeah you can," Cartman said and then started on a long, long, so painfully long list of what he wanted to order. Kyle stared at him in obvious disbelief and Stan bid his final farewells to the forty dollars in his hands, wondering how Cartman's mom found the time to do enough whoring to keep up with the obese teen's eating problems.

After what seemed an eternity, Cartman finished ordering, having to be reminded to order the food for the rest of them with a punch in the gut courtesy of the still-in-pain Kyle and the bemused teen motioned for the boys to drive up to the next window.

Another jab at Kyle's balls (which affirmed Stan's suspicions that Kyle would never be capable of fathering a kid) later, Cartman had dragged their oversized order back into the car and had snatched the forty bucks out of his had with ease. Just to top it off, he had the audacity to hand it to the man with an airy 'Keep the change, my good man!'. Stan couldn't help but suspect he was being less of an asshole to the McDonalds employee because the guy had blonde hair and blue eyes. Fucking wannabe Nazi.

"Alright, Jewfood for the Jew," Cartman said, shoving Kyle's 'Jewfood' (also known as a Big Mac) into the boy's hands, "Kenny's small fries and small coke. Don't stretch yourself too much dude, you might not be able to afford anything for the rest of the year," he continued merrily, earning an unenthusiastic 'Fuck you' from Kenny, "And Stan's…uhm…food. You're an asshole," he concluded, apparently at a loss of what to insult Stan with and dropped his food onto the taller boy's lap. Stan made a mental note to pull over next time he wanted to stop for food.

Blissful, sanity-restoring silence came over the car for fifteen minutes. It was the best fifteen minute period Stan had ever experienced, simply content to hear nothing but the sounds of Kyle and Kenny chewing, and Cartman gorging happily on his over-indulgent meal.

Of course, that was never going to last.

"You're not wearing your seatbelt Cartman."

Stan resisted the urge to smash his forehead against the steering wheel over and over until he knocked himself unconscious. Sure none of the others could drive and this would probably result in them all dying in a horrific car crash (to be fair, dying wasn't a new experience for any of them), but at least then he'd be getting some goddamn rest. He was so fucking tired, if he fell asleep at the wheel he wouldn't even bother waking back up when Kenny shook him. He'd just go right back to sleep. Fuck it.

"So?" Cartman snapped back, his voice muffled by a mouthful of fries.

"So put your seat belt on, fatass," Kyle said, clearly irritated. Jesus _Christ_, Stan thought to himself, there was absolutely no end. He was sure that Kyle, Cartman and Kenny had just decided to do this just to torture him when he was already stressed-out and exhausted.

"God Kyle, chill man," Cartman said smarmily. Stan heard Kyle hit Cartman for what felt like the millionth time that evening.

"Like the thing will even fit across all his lard anyway," Stan grumbled quietly to himself, face so close to the steering wheel he was practically talking into it. Another discovery he had made was that it was hard to ignore the most idiotic argument known to man, drive and stop a burger from tumbling off his lap and to stop the fries from spilling everywhere at the same time.

"Put the fucking seatbelt on Cartman!" Kyle growled and in the mirror Stan could see Kyle attempt to do it himself, not being very successful. The two began to squabble again, and Kenny started laughing hysterically again, watching it over the shoulder of the seat.

"Jeez, Kyle. You got some sand in your –" Before Cartman could finish his infamous quip, Kyle interrupted.

"Don't say it Cartman. Now put the fucking seatbelt on."

"No!" he responded, sounding like a stubborn child. In all fairness, he was.

"Why the hell not!?"

Keep your eyes on the road, Stanley, Stan told himself.

"Because I don't _want _to, asshole!"

Turn left here, he instructed himself, knuckles white around the steering wheel, it was only fifteen minutes to their houses and then it was freedom. Freedom, blissful quiet and a good few hours sleep.

"You just don't want to because I told you to!"

"Why the fuck do you want me to? Gee Kyle. I never knew you cared that much," Cartman said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Your fat fucking ass will crush us all, that's why," Kyle growled, half losing his coherency in the heat of the argument.

Stan kept his eyes level with the road, watching as familiar houses loomed into view.

"Shut up, Kahl!"

"Put your seatbelt on Cartman!"

More sounds of a struggle, and even Kenny's laughter was annoying him now. Stan was sure the pot was about to boil with him. Any moment now.

"Staaaan!"

"Styaaan!"

That was it. Ding, your time's up. Congratulations, you've won the sharp end of Stan's temper.

"Shut the fuck up!" he roared, twisting around to glare at the two bickering in the back. They stared back with shocked eyes, or at least Cartman did and Kyle probably would, if not for the fat gloved hand shoving his face away and half-suffocating him.

"You two have been going on like this for five fucking hours and it's driving me insane. I swear to god, you two have got to learn to get along otherwise I am going to stop this car and you can all fucking walk the rest of the way. Apart from you Kenny, you've done nothing!" he yelled, and Kenny raised an eyebrow as he kept his tone angry, even when informing Kenny that he was off the hook. Despite this, the blonde haired boy was watching the scene with amusment.

"So for the love of God will you two just shut the fuck up. I mean Jesus Christ it's three in the fucking morning and if it's not about Kyle being Jewish, or Cartman taking too much space, it's about a fucking _seatbelt_ of all things –"

"Stan. Kenneh," Cartman said, relaxing his grip on Kyle's head and the boy leapt back in his seat, gasping for breath.

"What the hell Cartman?" Stan snapped. Now Kyle was staring ahead as well.

"Guys, look out there's –"

_Smash!_

The front of the car impacted with the wall of somebody's house and all four boys jerked forward, Kyle smacking his head off the back of Stan's seat and Cartman flying forward, crashing into the back of Kenny's seat.

"Oh, God, now look what you've done! You've killed Kenny," Stan growled in irritation, glancing at Kenny's beaten up, bleeding corpse. He was too used to the gore to be disgusted by it, though this death was a new one. Cartman struggled to his feet and reclined back into his seat, looking at the crushed and scattered McDonalds items with regret in his hazel eyes. Regret at having wasted such good food, not having kill his friends, just to be clear.

"Bastard," Kyle added wearily.

_**Mwahaha. This is the result of there not being enough of the guys bickering and tearing each others' faces off in fandom, me being easily amused, watching people go in and out of the McDonalds drive-thru and not having any idea what events lead to this situation. Oh yeah, and that horrifying 'Julie knew her killer' advert. Well, I think it's terrifying. Shut up, my weakness for gory car-accident adverts is not to be scoffed at! proud stance Anyway, if you see any English-isms here, tell me. I'm an English girl born and raised, so if I've used the word 'chips' instead of 'fries' or thrown in an 'arse' where it should be an 'ass', just tell me.**_


End file.
